Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1)

by S. D. Hendrickson

  I slowly grinned as I remembered the day she’d stood on the trailer steps, yelling all that shit through the door. I’d watched Emma through the curtain, seeing her face get all red and angry. I’d pissed her off good that time, but she had the resilience of an MMA fighter. She had never given up on me.

  “You’re right. He’s got some serious dimples.” Hearing the voice, I froze as I looked over Emma’s head to the parked car. My eyes darted back and forth between them. What the hell?

  “Wyatt, um, this is Blaire. My sister.”

  Emma’s twin shut the driver’s side door and came over to us. Her piercing glare seemed friendly and menacing all at the same time. They were just alike, yet very different. I felt it radiating from their personalities as well as their looks. She had the same little turned-up nose and sexy lips. But Emma’s shiny blonde hair fell in curls around her shoulders while her sister’s was held up in some stringy blob on top of her head.

  “I didn’t think you drove,” I asked in confusion.

  “I don’t. But she’s been driving me crazy. Wyatt. Wyatt. Wyatt. Blah. Blah. I finally just said fuck it. I’ll waste my morning in that death trap.”

  “Blaire!” A nasty look passed between the girls. “Sorry, she can be an acquired taste.”

  I laughed a little, seeing Emma with Blaire. They were both so animated and full of life. So different than me. But it felt good to be around them. They made this dark day come alive and seem real. I hated that feeling and craved it all at the same time.

  “What?” Emma stared up at me and I got nervous, knowing I’d slipped away into one of my trances.

  “Nothing. It’s just funny seeing both of you together.”

  “Not him too.” Blaire rolled her eyes. “Please tell me you won’t fixate on it like Kurt.”

  “Who’s Kurt?” I asked, feeling surprised at the sudden pang of jealousy in my chest. I shouldn’t be upset by another guy in Emma’s life. What did I really know about her or who she spent time with outside of here?

  “She’s never told you about Kurt? Typical Emma.” She shook her head, making the messy blob of hair fall to the side. “Kurt is the reason her knee got messed up, again. And the reason I had to drive out here today because his little obsession put Emma in the hospital.”

  13 days ago

  I CRIED. I DIDN’T WANT to cry, but I couldn’t stop the tears. They poured down my cheeks, blocking the sun and my view of the road. I came to a complete stop in the middle of nowhere and put my car in park. Snot dripped out of my nose. Opening the center console, I found an old Sonic Drive-In napkin with traces of dried ketchup on the edges. I wiped my face with it anyway, smelling the stench of tater tots.

  I’d known he was messed up. I’d known something terrible was haunting Wyatt. But I think in the back of my mind, I’d created a romantic fantasy story—one where he was the wounded hero who had lost the girl. He had loved her so deeply that it had wrecked him. And I was going to put him back together. I was going to show Wyatt that it was okay to have feelings for someone again.

  But this was a different kind of tragedy. His pain was so much deeper and complex than I’d ever imagined. And he wasn’t any hero. By most people’s standards, Wyatt was a bad guy—just like he’d warned on all my visits.

  I wrestled with my thoughts. What if I’d done something like that to Blaire? What if I’d gotten high and cracked her skull open? Just the idea caused a flash of deep guilt in my chest, which I knew she would feel all the way back into town. And I seriously doubted my twin would be as forgiving as Willa if I’d messed up her head.

  All the twisted bits of truth caused every emotion inside my body to come alive. I thought about the rest of his story and all the people who had suffered because of his reckless stupidity. Some guy was currently sitting in a wheelchair because of Wyatt. Some guy who had been his best friend.

  Letting out a deep breath, I leaned my head back against the seat, feeling the cold air conditioner as it blew in my face. My red puffy eyes burned from all the tears.

  This was so confusing, but even in my search for clarity, I still hurt for Wyatt. The way he couldn’t even look me in the face as he told me his story. And the way he struggled to breathe at times from the shear agony of saying the words out loud. He cared about these people. His people. The people he hurt.

  Wyatt might be the bad guy, but I’d seen the shame in his eyes as he told me the truth. I’d felt the guilt tormenting every thought inside his head. And those feelings made me want to turn my car around and go back. Maybe it was crazy, but I knew the truth and I still wanted to save him. I still believed Wyatt Carter wasn’t a lost cause.

  I remembered the way his voice had sounded as he spoke. I knew Wyatt had never shared any of this with anyone. The accident. His grief. His remorse.

  I’d pushed him until he confessed. I’d pushed and pushed until he’d broken, turning him into a wild animal backed into a corner, yelling all those terrible things—lashing out, trying to hurt anyone who came near him. He had done his best to push back. And his words still hurt.

  I swallowed the knot in my swollen throat. Maybe I should just give him some space. I wiped my face again on the dirty napkin, blowing out a hunk of snot. My heart beat in ragged pieces from being ripped to shreds. Maybe we both needed some space if I planned to continue on with this insanity of trying to help someone who felt he should be left to rot like garbage.

  When I pulled into the apartment complex, my mind was numb. The strain of trying to drive with swollen eyes had caused a pounding headache. I just wanted to get in my apartment and bury myself under the covers in my bed.

  Crawling out of the seat, I slammed the door and limped toward the stairs, keeping my face cast down. I prayed my sister was away on campus. Blaire would know something had happened, but right now, I couldn’t deal with her stealth-level doom-and-gloom questions.

  I’d already made up my mind. Not that I really had much to consider. My cosmic fate had been sealed after our first meeting. Wyatt and I were intertwined now—even when the truth got messy. Helping people wasn’t for the faint of heart and saving them might border on self-inflicted torture.

  “Why so sad, Emma?”

  My good knee froze in mid-step, leaving all my weight on the bad one. My fingers gripped the handle on the staircase as Kurt came out of my apartment.

  “What were you doing in there?”

  My mind played a film reel of torrid thoughts, involving Kurt sitting on my couch, running his hands over my bedspread, digging through my drawers, touching my clothes, smelling my panties.

  Get a grip! He didn’t smell my underwear. As the apartment manager, there had to be a reasonable explanation as to why the guy was in my home—except he didn’t answer my question. I swallowed hard, trying not to be nervous.

  “Why were you in my apartment?” I asked again, hearing my shaky voice.

  Kurt came over to the staircase as I stayed perched just a few steps down from the top. His lips curled up on the corners under his wiry beard. “Your neighbor smelled gas. So I took a look around. Thought you might have left the stove on or something. You girls are always running in and out.”

  “Was . . . um . . . everything okay?”

  “Didn’t smell any damn gas. But that bedroom shit you got in there is gonna cost you. I’ll have to take that out of your deposit when you move out.”

  “What bedroom stuff?”

  Kurt took a step down to the spot just above my foot. His grin got even bigger, showing bits of chewing tobacco stuck in his teeth. “You painted it some girly purple color. You know that ain’t in your lease.”

  “It was that way when I moved in. You even knocked off an extra ten dollars a month if I didn’t make you haul a bucket of paint up there to fix it.”

  He pondered my words for a moment as he stood in my personal space. “I suppose I did.”

  “Okay, well, thanks for checking on the gas leak.”

  He grinned, leaning a few inches clos
er. “Your eyes are all covered in black shit. You been crying?”

  I frowned, leaning backward until I stood at a crooked arch with his face hovering. I put my good leg back one step.

  “You have a fight or something with that guy you go see?” His eyes traveled over the smeared mascara to my neck and down to the low V-neck of my shirt. “A pretty thing like you deserves someone better than a piece of shit like him.”

  My eyes glanced to my door and then back to where his body blocked most of the staircase, preventing me from running past him. And I wanted nothing more than to get away from this uncomfortable situation.

  “I need to get to my apartment, Kurt.” I tried to be firm. He couldn’t keep this up for very long. Someone would pull into the lot soon or open their door.

  “I’m just trying to be helpful, Emma.” His drawl pulled on my name. “Girls like you shouldn’t be running off to see guys who live out there in the sticks. All kinds of bad shit can happen.”

  I stepped backward with my bad leg, feeling it wobble on the wooden steps, and then it crumbled. My fingers grabbed for anything—the railing, his shirt, his arm, his stupid face—but everything slipped through my hands as I tumbled down into the parking lot.

  I landed in a heap at the bottom of the staircase. My head throbbed from hitting it eight times against the wooden steps. The pain caused me to black out for a second. And then I screamed, feeling the stabs in my knee bringing me back to life. It hurt like someone had emptied an entire revolver of bullets straight into the bone.

  “Hmm. You really should be more careful.” Kurt took his time walking down the stairs before hovering over me. “Well, I guess I better get you off the ground before you scare the other tenants.”

  He scooped me up in his arms. I struggled to get free, seeing stars as I blinked. “Let me go.”

  “Now, how in the hell are you going to get yourself to the hospital?”

  “You’re taking me to the hospital?”

  “You act like I was going to tie you up or something.” He laughed, giving me a strange side smile.

  Reaching his truck, I noticed a bunch of chains and ropes in the back. Up next to the cab were several metal cages. I’d never paid much attention to it before since he’d kept it parked out of view on the other side of the manager’s office.

  I screamed in pain as Kurt dumped me in the passenger’s seat. He slammed the door, and I slid down in the floorboard as my head throbbed. I struggled to get back up in the seat. My hand slipped under the edge, feeling something cold and metal. A shotgun. I panicked. Kurt had a shotgun crammed under the seat.

  Not unusual in Oklahoma, but in this precarious moment of relying on Kurt, I panicked. I kicked with my good foot, trying to get back in the seat. I grabbed at the door handle just as he climbed in the driver’s side.

  “Just settle down over there. You ain’t walking to the hospital.”

  The motor fired up, and he put the truck into drive. I concentrated on breathing amidst the burning pain. He was taking me to the hospital. He was taking me to the hospital. He was taking me to the hospital.

  This morning…

  THE CAR SLAMMED TO A stop in the middle of Duck Street, throwing me against the seatbelt. The impact knocked the wind slightly out of my lungs.

  “It’s an automatic, Blaire. That’s not a clutch. It’s a break.” I tried to use a calming tone and not glare in horror at my sister. “You only use it at, like, lights and stop signs.”

  “Emma, I swear. One more word, and I’m getting out and walking back to the apartment.”

  I steadied my thoughts, knowing this wasn’t an idle threat. She would leave me and the car right there in front of Garth Brooks’s old yellow house. And I couldn’t drive. Not for another two weeks.

  “I’m sorry. I know this is a big deal for you. Just go slow and everything will be fine. We are not in a hurry.” I turned to face the front, praying a big farm truck didn’t ram us from behind. “Thank you for doing this.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Her foot lifted from the brake. She smashed the gas and we shot forward, slinging my neck back against the seat.

  I knew driving scared Blaire and I was starting to understand why. She was going to wreck our car. After all these years of joking, I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of actually sharing my car. Not when she drove like Jeff Gordon with Fred Flintstone’s feet.

  I didn’t relax until we had left the city limits and drove down the vacant dirt road. Staring out the window, I tried to calm the apprehension that spun through my nerves.

  I’d left his trailer thirteen days ago. Thirteen very long and very eventful days ago. And I’m sure he thought I wasn’t coming back. After yelling all those terrible words, I bet Wyatt assumed he’d finally driven me away for good. And that had me worried.

  The guy was in bad shape. I’d never seen a person ripped apart like Wyatt. His insides were raw with guilt and pain that manifested as serious depression. I didn’t need to be a psychologist to put that one together.

  “Turn in here.” I pointed toward the silver metal gate.

  “Seriously? The place with the cow skulls? Are there human ones too?”

  I knew she was trying to get a reaction out of me. Instead of responding to her condescending remark, I focused on the positive instead of the negative. She had taken a huge step by driving the car. She had brought me to see Wyatt. “Blaire, you will have to open the gate. Just pull the chain out of the hook. Don’t worry about shutting it.”

  “Okay.” She said the word like I asked her to push me to the top of Mount Everest in a wheelchair.

  My hands got fidgety as I watched her struggle with the gate. She managed to get the silver metal pushed to the side and got back in the driver’s seat. “Where’s the road?”

  “Just follow the tracks in the grass.”

  “That’s not a road. I’m not messing up my car over this.”

  “Just.” I took a calming breath. “It’s fine. Just follow the tracks. You will see the buildings better once we get in there.”

  She stared at me like I was crazy. I imagined a hundred different Criminal Minds episodes running through her head. Even though she knew Wyatt wasn’t technically dangerous, it didn’t mean she necessarily approved of him or where he lived. And when did it become her car?

  Blaire touched the gas, making sure she hit every rut and bump. My knee was still in a brace from ankle to midthigh. And thanks to Dr. Westbrook and his tray of nuts and bolts, my bones were tied all back together and my ACL was good as new. I did therapy every day, but I couldn’t put weight on the leg for another week—and no driving for at least two, which only happened because it was my left leg.

  Thirteen days ago, Kurt had dropped me off at the hospital. I’d had surgery and then I’d moved in with my parents, at least for the time being, until I could maneuver around on my own again. Thirteen long and torturous days where I thought about nothing but Wyatt.

  I strained to see his trailer and the kennel, trying to find him somewhere in the distance.

  “What are you going to do if he flips out again?” Blaire asked.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered, searching for his familiar shape in the distance. And then I saw him.

  Wyatt.

  He walked slowly out in front of the kennel, watching us get closer. Blaire hit the break, slamming me against the seatbelt and leaving a small cloud of dust from the tires.

  Opening the door, I struggled to get out of the seat. And then I saw his face, so twisted and almost gray instead of the usual tan from the sun. I didn’t bother to grab my crutches from the backseat. I bounced on one foot, stopping next to the hood. Leaning against the metal for support, I gauged his reaction.

  Wyatt seemed spooked—his eyes were wild and crazy and even a bit scary. His hands were shaking to the point of distraction with his palms flexing into fists and releasing. The guy was on the cusp of a physical explosion. And then he came toward me.

  I was right to be worried.
“Wyatt, before you say anything—”

  But the words disappeared the moment I felt his arms circle around my body. He clung to me the way a drowning man would hold onto a tree limb. So tight. So desperate.

  My heart broke into a million pieces. And I couldn’t breathe as he pulled every bit of strength from me. But I gave it freely. I gave everything I could to Wyatt as he held on to me under the hot sun.

  After what seemed like an eternity, he loosened his grip enough to look at me. Our eyes morphed into one of those deep, probing stares. So lost. So alone. I almost cried right there in front of him. “I’m so sorry. I was afraid you would think that I wasn’t coming back. I wanted—”

  And then he kissed me. Hard. It was different from the soft lips he had used in the past. The desperation fueled a spark that transcended into some frantic desire. Wyatt kissed the same way he’d clung to me earlier—like his life depended on it.

  He trailed over my cheek and neck, letting his lips rest against my ear. His gruff voice spoke low, and I struggled to hear the words.

  “I don’t know what scared me more when you left,” he whispered. “That you wouldn’t come back. Or that you would.”

  I knew this was the turning point. I had finally broken through his defenses. I had torn down the walls, and he was letting me inside for real this time.

  “I wanted to come back. The moment I left. I wanted to turn back around.”

  “You did?” He seemed surprised or maybe relieved.

  “Remember?” I whispered. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

  His grin came slowly, painfully, like he needed to process his thoughts, pushing the worried ones aside. But Wyatt finally smiled and his whole face moved. I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to go inside his trailer and let him run his hands over my skin. I wanted to feel that same desperate spark as he moved inside of me.

  “You’re right. He’s got some serious dimples.”

  I mentally gasped, hearing my sister’s voice. I had forgotten she was in the car witnessing my entire makeout session.